


Bend to your will

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Ivar [5]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Choking, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Restraints, Reverse Cowgirl, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: I got a tumblr request where the reader (a shieldmaiden) offers herself to Ivar after the human sacrifice, and he takes her up on that offer.Hope you enjoy it, mizzvengenz6661 :)Please note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	

Loud gasps start to ripple through the crowd. Someone points to the sky and you look up to see several streaks of light move across the night sky, the different shades of gold stand out clear against the dark background. Everyone stares in awe, certain that this means that the gods have blessed the impending attack on England. Once the lights have disappeared from your sight you look down again and the sacrifice continues as planned but with an even greater air of reverence. Queen Lagertha steps forward, the smooth blade in her hands, and lifts the tip to press against the young earl's skin. The man keeps his head high; completely fearless in the face of death. The blade sinks into his chest and you can't stop yourself from looking across the dais to see how the youngest prince is reacting to this. He doesn't disappoint you; he is leaning forward with his mouth wide open in fascination. An instant wave of heat envelops your body and you know that you have to offer yourself to him tonight, just like you have dreamt of ever since you arrived at Kattegatt. The prince hasn't noticed you staring yet; he is too busy observing the blood that is being gathered in a large wooden bowl to pay any attention to the outside world. Once the bowl is filled and the people standing closest to altar are starting to receive the anointment he finally seems to snap out of the trance. You are too slow to react and he catches you staring. His mesmerizing eyes are heavy with lust but you can see that he is also suspicious of your intentions. Few of the men and women that you had taken into bed had touched you like you wanted them to. They feared that they would hurt you, not understanding that that was what you wanted. Judging from what you had heard about Ívarr hinn Beinlausi he would have no such qualms and satisfy you exactly the way you craved. Shortly after arriving to join the great army you and your fellow shieldmaidens had heard rumours about the young prince and how he had nearly strangled a slave girl. While your friends gasped in horror and talked about how they pitied the girl you felt an excited thrill run down your spine. You had touched yourself that night to a very vivid image of of Ivar's hands denying you air. Still, the thought of offering yourself to the prince scares you. The sudden changes in his temperament were infamous and you fear that he might think you were playing some cruel joke on him and strike you down. _And not in a fun way_. You decide that you need more liquid courage in your body before daring to approach the prince and so you hurry to grab an entire pitcher of ale from a servant as she walks past you. You drain your cup while glancing over at the other side of the altar in what you hope is a casual way in order to keep track of where Ivar is. He stays in the same place, sitting on a stool that has been brought out for him and talking to the renowned boatbuilder. He has just received the sacred blood and he looks hauntingly beautiful with the red liquid splattered on his face. To your relief you can see that both his brothers and your fellow warriors have scattered; their judging eyes were the last thing you needed right now. You down another cup and then make your way over to Ivar. During your time here you have come to understand that Floki and Ivar are very close and so it doesn't bother you that the older man is about to watch you throw yourself at the prince's feet. Their conversation dies out as they see you approaching and Ivar tenses. You smile politely at Floki before turning to Ivar.

“I see that your cup is empty, my prince. May I fill it for you?” He narrows his eyes but nods and holds his cup out. Once it is full you take a step back and wait for him to take a sip. The boatbuilder is eyeing you curiously but you are too focused on Ivar to take much notice of it. Ivar takes a long sip and you enjoy watching his tongue sweep over the corners of his mouth to catch a stray drip of ale.

“What do you want, shieldmaiden?” He asks, his voice cold. You are thankful for the light cloud that has come to rest around your mind, as it keeps you from turning and running away. You gesture at the altar where the bloody earl still lies and speak up.

”You enjoyed it. I saw the lust in your eyes.” Ivar's features harden as he thinks that you are about to mock him for his twisted desires. Floki giggles nervously, probably thinking that this wouldn't end well for you. There is no chance that either of them have anticipated your next move. Both the pitcher and the mug lands with a thud as you drop them and sink to your knees in front of Ivar.

”Take me, my prince.” You beg with your head bowed down. He is silent but you can feel him glaring at you. Then he scoffs.

“Haven't you heard what happened to the last girl?” He is angry and about to reject you, probably in a violent manner. You had suspected that he would bring up this previous experience of his as an excuse to push you away but you are prepared. Scooting a little closer, you almost let your head touch against his legs.

“She is weak. Nothing more than a simple slave.” The words are barely more than a whisper “But I, I can bend to your will without breaking.” He grabs on to your hair and yanks at it so that your head comes to rest on his lap.

“Is this some trick, hmm?” He snarls. Things were spiralling out of control but you still hadn't given up your hope of spending the night with him.

“No. I would never trick you.” You say with great passion. He is about to speak again when the man carrying the bowl of sacrificial blood makes his second round.

“Let me receive the blessing.” You beg and Ivar reluctantly loosens his grip so that you can turn to face the man. He sees you sitting on the ground with your back against Ivar and he leans down towards you. He flicks his wrist and you close your eyes as the blood splatters against your skin, arching your back lightly and giving up an almost indistinguishable moan. Ivar's hand is still entangled in your hair and you can feel him jump in surprise. He pulls your head back so that your throat becomes exposed.

“What was that?” He demands. This could be the moment that tips the scales to your favour and so you weigh every word carefully before answering him.

“I told you that I'm not weak like that girl.” You press back against him “You're not the only one who enjoys pain, my prince. Though I prefer to be on the receiving end.” He bares his teeth as his eyes drill into yours in an attempt to see if you are telling the truth. Everything freezes for a moment. Then the suspicion fades away, leaving room for the lustful look that consumed his features during the sacrifice. Your offer is simply too tempting to refuse and he smirks at you.

“Do you know where my room is?” You nod carefully to avoid having your hair pulled out “Go wait for me there.”

 

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Ivar opens the door to find you sitting with your legs crossed on the bed. He slithers up to it and puts his chin to rest on the edge of the bed with his fingers toying at the fur. When he doesn't speak or act you reposition so that you are on your stomach with your lower legs lifted in the air. You reach out to touch his braces, thinking that he might need some reassurance. You're on the verge of asking what he wants you to do when he strikes. He moves without warning; his hand buries itself in your hair and forces you to bend your neck in a nearly impossible way. The sudden change in him awakens every part of your body and you can feel heat begin to course through you again. You look at him pleadingly but like a true Viking he shows no mercy.

“On the ground.” He snarls. He loosens his grip just enough so that you can move but it is difficult and you nearly fall to the ground. The second you land on your knees Ivar starts to manhandle you into the position that he wants. You have always bruised easily and the thought of waking up in the morning and inspecting the marks was enough to trigger a growing dampness between your legs. You end up with most of your upper body resting on the bed and your legs slightly apart. Then Ivar is behind you, cutting through your dress. He gives up an angry hiss when he sees that you have another layer of clothing, a thin linen shift, underneath the simple dress. His knife catches on the double layers of fabric and he tosses it aside while cursing under his breath. Then his hands grab on to each side of the opening and rips the rest of the dress apart with a grunt. He immediately repeats the procedure with your shift. He tears through it, opening it all the way from the back of the neckline to the hem.

“Sit up.” He yanks at your hair again to pull you away from the bed and you happily oblige, thinking that he is about to undress you. Ivar's covered chest presses against you as he grabs on to your arms and forces them flat against the bed, so close that they touch each other. You hold them still as he lets go and starts to push the torn clothing down from your shoulders. As the fabric becomes scrunched up around your lower arms you automatically raise them slightly so that he will be able to slide the clothes off completely. That was a mistake, you realize when his nails dig into your skin hard enough to draw blood. Ivar is snarling behind you and you silently lower your trembling arms onto the mattress. His hands move to the fabric and he starts to wrap and twist it around your wrists; you can see the remains of your clothes become darkened with flecks of the blood that he drew from your arms. The sight reminds you of how the altar was stained and you moan softly, prompting Ivar to tighten the knots even more. Once he's done he leans back and gives you a new order.

“Spread your arms.” You muster up all your strength and try to force them apart but the binding doesn't budge.

“I can't.” You whisper. Ivar laughs and his hand stings against your ass; he is still wearing his braces and although he isn't putting much force in it, it is enough to make you whimper in pain. His hand comes down a second time, harder, and you wail loudly.

“Tell me, pet, what is your name?” He asks once you've quieted down.

“(y/n)” He repeats your name as if he's tasting it, testing what it will feel like to utter as part of a command. Then Ivar collides with you. His hands roam over your body, pinching and grabbing, while the rough material of his pants rubs against your backside. He traces your ear with his tongue, biting down on your earlobe once he reaches it.

“You're stuck here now, (y/n).” He ceases his assault on you and pulls back but you can hear him move. Something lands next to you on the floor and you turn your head to see his belt there, which is soon joined by his braces. Ivar pants and the floor vibrates slightly as he shimmies out of his trousers. His hands clamp down on your thighs and spreads you wider, then they wander up to find your sex. His fingers start to probe at your folds and you gasp loudly. You press down on his hand and beg for him to continue, to press inside you. The punishment is swift; an open palm cracks against your ass again. He raises his voice so that you can hear him over your sobbing.

“Quiet, pet. I don't need you to tell me how to take care of you.” His hand disappears between your legs again and starts to drag back and forth over the wetness. Eventually, he does what you begged for and lets his pointer finger push inside. Then he hesitates, and you remember that he isn't experienced enough to know how to move inside you. Instead of handing out instructions you decide to let him try different approaches and simply guide him by voicing your pleasure whenever he does well. Ivar starts to move carefully but he soon realizes that you are far too quiet and so he thrusts into you with more vigour, earning a moan from you. He keeps this pace for a while until he has built up enough confidence to try something new and he pauses to roll his finger. It feels good but what you really want is for Ivar to sheathe more of himself inside you, so you moan even louder to give him the confidence that he needs to carry on. It works, and before you can react his index finger is hard at work too. Writhing and panting at the prince's touch, nothing else matters in this moment. He retreats again, far too soon for your liking, and you whine. He ignores you and shuffles to place his stretched out legs between yours. Ivar grabs on to your hips and guide you onto his cock; all it takes is one swift move and he fills you completely. You melt together, finding a rhythm and moving to it. He is somewhat gentle at first, testing the waters, but he soon grows tired of this. One rough hand starts to wander up your body and you wonder what he will try next. They stop at your tits first. You have always felt that they were the ugliest part of you, their size bothered you to no end but Ivar doesn't seem to care. He lazily plays with one nipple and you mewl in encouragement. He cups your breast and squeezes it tightly before moving on. His hand inches closer to your throat and you gasp when you understand what he is about to do. Long fingers wrap around you and you think back to the night where you pleased yourself to an image similar to this one, praying that reality will live up to the fantasy. He presses down and you let the sensation wash over you. It is better, infinitely better. You arch your back and let out a raspy noise. Ivar growls into your ear and the hand at your hip digs in to your skin, forcing you down to meet his now savage thrusts. The gods have blessed you tonight, in more than one way. You forget about the outside world and focus only on the prince; the feeling of him under you, behind you, inside you. This must be what he felt like when he saw the blade disappear into the earl; secluded from the world and filled with utter bliss. You never notice how the hand at your hip disappears to search for something on the floor. Your eyes fly open; something cold drags between your breasts and down your stomach. Ivar is moving the flat side of his knife up and down your body; when he sees that he has your attention he moves it to rest under your left tit and your soft flesh bounces lightly against the blade with every thrust from him. His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Come for me, (y/n).” And how can you refrain from doing absolutely anything that the prince asks of you? Your body contorts in pleasure when it finally receives the release that it's been dreaming of. As you arch your back the knife opens a cut under your breast but it only makes it better. Ivar takes away the knife and you sweep up the blood with your fingers before lifting them to your mouth and licking them clean. Ivar gasps into your hair. Golden lights dance before your eyes as you ride out your orgasm and you finally tip your head backwards to rest against Ivar's shoulder. He doesn't give you much of a respite. Hands steer you away from him and his cock slips out of you. He starts to slash and tear at fabric around your wrists. The remains of the improvised restraints fall to the floor and he wastes no time in giving you a new order to follow.

“Get back on the bed.” He is already lifting himself up. Your legs are weak and you struggle to rise from the floor but once again he shows no mercy.

“Now, (y/n).” He orders and you nod feebly as you use the bed to push yourself up. Ivar positions himself with his back against the headboard, his cock still upright, and watches as you crawl up the bed on all fours.

“Between my legs.” You are still trembling from the intense climax and Ivar smirks at you.

“Tired already, little pet?” You shake your head and lie down between his legs. He strokes your hair in a way that could almost be mistaken for a loving gesture.

“Good girl.” His grip tightens and you open your mouth to let him in. Your prince graciously allows you a few seconds to adjust to his rather large cock before he bucks his hips up. You moan around his length and Ivar sinks back down on the bed while pulling your head upwards until only his tip remains in your mouth.

“Lick it.” Your tongue swirls around the area just under his tip and he growls approvingly, but the greedy prince wants more. He orders you to lick all of it and you repeatedly drag your tongue all the way from base to tip. Ivar closes his eyes and makes some purring noise while you work on his cock and you smile around his length. Suddenly, he speaks.

“Don't even think about spitting out my seed, (y/n).” Your eyes widen in surprise and he takes control again, keeping your head in place as he thrusts into your mouth. You whimper helplessly under his increasingly violent onslaught and his feral noises are mixed with laughter. Ivar bucks his hips one last time and looks down on you, silently ordering you to swallow. Your throat moves, accepting the salty liquid, and he finally releases your head. Ivar places a hand around your chin and tilts your head up so that he can place a chaste kiss on your forehead. You smile to yourself, happy that you've pleased him.

“Such a good girl.” He coos while stroking your hair. Then he pushes you away from him and you almost fall backwards in surprise. He tosses a blanket at you, an amused light in his eyes.

“Now go sleep at the foot of the bed. I'll wake you the next time I want you.”

 

 

 


End file.
